


Ostrich

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [61]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Johnlock Fluff, crackly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 17:53:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5426273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ostrich: noun: ˈästriCH: </p><p>a flightless swift-running African bird with a long neck, long legs, and two toes on each foot. It is the largest living bird, with males reaching an average height of 8 feet (2.5 m).</p><p>a person who refuses to face reality or accept facts.</p><p> </p><p>Middle English: from Old French ostriche, from Latin avis ‘bird’ + late Latin struthio (from Greek strouthiōn ‘ostrich,’ from strouthos ‘sparrow or ostrich’).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ostrich

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DaringD](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaringD/gifts).



For someone who claimed to put facts and reality above all else, Sherlock was a bit of an ostrich when it came to dealing honestly with the fact that his heart belonged to a certain former Army surgeon who happened to reside alongside him at 221B. 

On any other day, he might chuckle in appreciation, as he did have a decent sense of humour, when John bounded up the steps and presented the detective with one beautiful ostrich feather. However. It was not that kind of day.

"I've, or rather, we've been summoned, to attend Yuletide festivities at the Holmes residence this weekend."

"Sounds like...fun?"

"Fun? No. Tedious, trying and tiresome. Not fun of any kind. And where on earth did you find that feather?"

"Ran through the zoo, and found it on a path, thought it would look good on the mantle between the skull and the knife?" He bent down and kissed his rather tense and tetchy detective.

"Uhm, quite." Sherlock took a deep breath and sighed. "They just want to interrogate, inspect and otherwise ogle you, since Mycroft took upon himself to tell Mummy about us."

"Love, we don't have to go, you are an adult..." John whispered as he slowly helped take Sherlock's jacket from his shoulders.

"You don't underst-ohgoddddJohhhhn..." John had thrust his fingers into the mangled curls and was gently tugging. Long ago, John discovered the secret to preventing a strop before it even began was to redirect Sherlock's attention elsewhere.

"Yes, love? What do I not understand?" John asked as he had turned Sherlock's chair around, and was efficiently and quietly removing Sherlock's eggplant shirt, his shoes, socks, bespoke trousers and John's favourite burgundy pants, yes, the pair with Rudolph...never mind about that...the point is, John knew the fastest way to a happy and contented Sherlock was through mild manipulation of hair follicles and the disrobing of said detective.

"Uhmmmmmmnnnnng..."

"I know, love, I need a shower, will you join me, or do you-"

John was beyond words as his detective, also fully aware of his doctor's weaknesses, grabbed him and pushed him into the wall, kissing him into next week.

"Uhhhhhhhhhnnnnng."

"Shower later, bedroom, now, please?"

John nodded as Sherlock peeled his doctor's faded Army t shirt, running shoes, socks and shorts, throwing them in a damp, sweaty pile. If John could think properly at this point, he might consider that it was funny how Sherlock became extremely polite when turned on, but as it was, he simply followed where he led, to their bedroom, where he was deposited onto the bed, still unmade from this morning's love fest.

Somehow, they managed to slow down, and they spent a leisurely hour making love before Sherlock finally let go, screaming John's name as he came, which naturally sent John over the metaphorical cliff.

As they came down, John propped himself up on his good side and asked, "why don't you want your parents to know about me, about us?"

"It's not that, John. It's that they still treat me like a child. My bedroom is still the same as it was when I left for boarding school at eight, they call me 'William' for heaven's sake! Still! After thirty years, they won't call me by my chosen name. It's ridiculous!"

"Maybe if we go there together, they will finally realize you are an adult? And I really want to see those baby albums, I bet you were adorable...not to mention what we could get up to in that old bedroom of yours....?"

Sherlock closed his eyes, and a smile crept across his features, it reached his eyes and he let out a hoot. "You're brilliant, John. God-have I told you how much I love you recently?"

"Actually, not in the last ten minutes-"

"I looooooove you, John, your mind, your lips, your spectacular hands, your arse....."

Sherlock spent the next half hour delighting in delineating in fine detail what he loved about the man who was rapidly falling apart again beneath his hands and lips.

"Sher-"

"I'm here love, I have you-"

"I love you-"

"I know."

"Call your parents."

"Yes, love."


End file.
